


Enough

by glockenspielium



Category: Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Genre: Other, Poetry, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:53:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl in white runs to him, she glows<br/>Pale and lovely in the dark and shameful night.<br/>As if atop a wedding cake they stand<br/>In white and black, a monster and a child.<br/>A monster? Yes, that is what they would call<br/>Him now- they can't accommodate this thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

The man in shining black stands stiffly up  
His hair is dark and wild, his eyes frightened.  
And there you see the blood of a young boy  
Upon his fingers (-finger, so to speak).  
A group of mindless monochromes looks on  
United, stare in horror and mistrust,  
And he is young, naïve and innocent;  
So beautiful, so horrific, so scarred,  
And still neglected, tragic, incomplete;  
An utterly peaceful walking weapon  
And all other impossible combinations. 

Impossible, improbably; the world  
May never really be ready to let  
A wonder like that in. Give him a home,  
A job, a 'life'- the intrigue will soon wear  
Off (it always does) and just like that they  
Realise- just how different, just how  
Contrary and unique he really is-  
And then they turn their gaze in their disgust,  
And then they turn against the thing they made. 

The girl in white runs to him, she glows  
Pale and lovely in the dark and shameful night.  
As if atop a wedding cake they stand  
In white and black, a monster and a child.  
A monster? Yes, that is what they would call  
Him now- they can't accommodate this thing.  
The path is set, there's no going back now,  
The damage has been done and he must leave.

But he does not ask her forgiveness  
He does not expect any.  
She takes him and looks for answers in his eyes  
And she finds them dark, hollow and empty,  
Like wells long run dry;  
But somehow also full of pain, remorse, sorrow- and love.  
And she understands,  
"Run," she whispers to him. 

He backs away, he understands, he now  
Won't make that same mistake ever again.  
For he would like to be, most simply, all  
He is; and that, for him, means now he must  
Depart, for always and beyond; this place,  
Here, will never be real enough for him. 

He makes himself break away from her,  
And he flees.

And stand the foolish women, muttering  
To others or themselves- it is not clear. 

"I always knew there was something wrong with him."  
Liar.

"He near raped me, I'm afraid for the poor girl."  
Hypocrite.

"Look at him, he's not even human."

What makes a human?  
Hands? A body? A brain? A mind? A heart? A soul?

Perhaps he is more human than any of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written in my secondary school english exam years ago, fixed up some of the grammar but otherwise untouched (despite much cringing)


End file.
